The Literati Collection
by Hallon
Summary: This will be a collection of short stories, all featuring Jess and Rory in different parts of their lives.
1. Persuasion

_**A/N:** If_ you think you recognize these stories, there is every possibility that you're not imagining things. They were written years ago, and posted on my LJ. I found them again and kinda still liked them, so I did some editing. All of them feature Jess and Rory in one way or other, and here is the first one.

 _ **Disclaimer:** Gilmore Girls is not mine. Not now, not ever._

* * *

 **Persuasion**

 ** _Summary:_** _So, who wins this time? Does it really matter in the end? Literati, set during the middle of season 3._

* * *

It had been a long day in more than one way, especially since he didn't get in from work until after midnight the night before. Luke had woken him up early, even earlier than normal, and he had found himself trudging around the diner filling coffees and carrying out plates of food for the morning rush.

He had been too tired in the morning to check if there was an extra shift at work and instead headed for school like he was supposed to. It didn't take long to realize that had been a mistake as he found the droning voice of his first teacher to be even more lifeless and sleep inducing than he remembered. Even so he had held out until lunch, not actually paying that much attention to the classes, but he figured he at least got the hours marked as attended.

The afternoon and in to early evening he had spent at work, trying to stay awake. It wasn't like it was a challenge for the mind and mostly he did it on autopilot, which didn't really help. It was actually pretty boring, but it got him money, so he didn't complain. Not too much anyway.

Now he was standing behind the counter at the diner going through the last of the day's receipts, trying not to dislocate his jaw every time he yawned. He had barely gotten in through the door a couple hours earlier when Luke caught him and made him work and now he had somehow got stuck with finishing closing up, since Luke had to go somewhere. He couldn't remember where at the moment, but it didn't really matter. Wherever it was, he was stuck here.

He had just finished and was about to put away the receipts and finally go to bed when the door opened and an ice cold wind blew in, almost spreading the stack of papers all over the floor. He managed to catch them at the last minute though and sent a glare towards the door.

"What the hell…" he began, but then he noticed who was in the doorway and quickly shut himself up. "Rory? What are you doing here?" he asked instead, a slight frown still visible.

"I came to see you, stupid," she answered, sounding out of breath, but with a smile on her face. "Get your coat."

"Why?" he asked, eyeing her suspiciously and put away the receipts.

"Because you're coming with me," she said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She looked around the diner, finally locating his coat on a hanger just inside the door, and went over to retrieve it. With a sweet smile she then walked up to the counter and reached it out to him. "Put it on or you'll get cold," she said, her sweet smile still in place.

"It's snowing outside," he pointed out and shivered a little from the cold air that was fast filling up the diner. "And in here too since you didn't close the door," he added.

"Even more reason for you to put your coat on," she reasoned, still with the coat in her outstretched hand.

After quickly checking that all the receipts were safely stacked in the cash register he closed the till and slowly made his way around the counter to her. "Or we could just stay inside…" he suggested, raising an eyebrow at her.

"But I want to go out," she pouted. "It's pretty outside." She let her pout grow a little and looked at him with pleading eyes.

"It's Cold. Wet. Windy. Slippery." He ticked the adjectives off on his fingers as he said them. "And yes, did I mention cold?" he asked, glaring at her, and stuffed his hands deep in his pockets, shivering in the cold air coming in through the still open door.

She smiled happily at him, ignoring his protests, and linked her free arm with his. "Complain all you want, it won't change the fact that you're coming with me." Her eyes shone brightly at him and he had to fight to keep his stoic, unhappy expression.

"You sure about that?" he asked, eyeing her with raised eyebrows. A small smirk was making its way on to his lips and he didn't do anything to stop it.

She grinned up at him, untangling her arm from his, only to snake it around his waist. "Oh, I definitely am," she said and kissed him, pressing herself against him closely, dropping his coat on the counter.

He responded instantly, eagerly capturing her lips with his, deepening the kiss. He removed his hands from his pockets and wrapped his arms around her, using one of them to pull her even closer while the other slowly moved up over her back to her neck, into her hair.

She moaned against his lips and he pressed her even closer, slowly backing her up against the door. She didn't seem to notice and he quickly reached out a hand to close it, effectively cutting off the flow of cold air and shutting them off from the world outside the diner. As an afterthought he turned off the lights too, letting the darkness take over the room behind them, the only light being the street lights outside.

He now had her pressed up against the door, trapped between his body and the glass window, and he smirked a little against her lips before once again deepening the kiss. He felt her hands slowly move up to his hair and shivered; this time it had nothing to do with the cold.

He was out of breath when he finally pulled back, his heart was pounding in his chest and somehow his hands had ended up inside her shirt on her bare back. He wasn't sure how they had gotten there, but he felt one of her hands slowly tracing his ribs, the skin on skin contact almost burning, so he didn't bother removing them.

Her eyes were closed and she looked flushed, her cheeks slightly red and a soft smile was playing at her lips. She looked almost dreaming and her appearance made him feel oddly happy.

He leaned down and kissed her lips once again, this time barely a touch and it lasted for only a second. But it was enough to make her open her eyes and he was met by two glazed blue orbs looking back at him, holding an almost surprised expression.

"That was not what I had in mind," she said dazedly, leaning back against the door, letting it hold up her weight.

"You complaining?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow at her, tugging her closer again andflattening his hands against the soft skin on her lower back.

She shook her head and kissed him softly again, pulling back to smile up at him. Her hand on his back stopped its slow exploration and it wasn't until then he realized the other one was safely tucked into his back pocket. He smirked down at her, leaning in so his forehead was resting against hers.

"Good," he whispered, his fingers slowly moving over her back, searching their way upwards in small circles. He leaned his head back a little to get a better look at her and found her eyes to be closed, her lips slightly parted and he smiled to himself. "So, who won?" he asked softly, his lips millimeters from hers.

He wasn't sure if she had heard him or not, but either way she didn't have time to answer before the door opened, pushing them both into the diner, almost falling on top of each other on the floor. He just barely managed to steady himself, and somehow her too, and looked up to find Luke staring at him with wide eyes, a shocked expression on his face.

"What…" Luke began, but didn't seem to know what he was going say because he didn't get any further than that. He just slowly closed the door, all the while keeping his eyes on them as if checking that he wasn't mistaken.

Then Rory suddenly seemed to realize Luke was there, her eyes widening to enormous size as she blushed furiously, and she almost jumped out of Jess' arms, putting as much distance between them as she could in one step.

Then she dashed out of the diner.

Jess sighed and watched her run out, taking a deep breath. "Thanks Uncle Luke," he said and dragged a hand through his hair. "Love the timing." Then he picked up his coat from the counter and made his way out the door, pulling the coat on as he went.

Luke hadn't moved at all since he closed the door, which hadn't really made any difference, since it was now open again after Rory's hasty departure. He didn't move until Jess was almost outside. "Hey, what about the diner?" he asked.

"Diner's fine," Jess yelled back as he made his way over the street, searching the snow for Rory's footprints. He hadn't closed the door either and he didn't bother listening for Luke's answer, already knowing what it would be.

He reached the bridge minutes later, once again shivering in the cold air. The coat Rory had found him wasn't exactly the one he would have chosen on a night like this, but he hadn't really thought about the weather when he followed her out. At least the snow had stopped for now.

She looked up at him when he stopped right beside her in the middle of the bridge. "I need to stop running from Luke," she said, a sheepish smile on her face. "I don't even know why I did it."

"At least this time he didn't threaten me with Taylor or your mother," he responded and sat down, smirking at her. She hit his arm with a mitten clothed fist and glared at him, but he kept smirking at her. "You looked pretty funny when you realized he was there," he teased her, grinning broadly and put up his hand as defense against any more attacks.

She glared some more at him, but then a snow flake fell on her nose tip and she smiled. "Well, I guess I won," she grinned, her eyes shining brightly at him.

And then the snow started to fall all around them and her laughter floated away through the white night. And as he wrapped his arm around her and kissed her he no longer felt either tired or cold.


	2. Cause and Effect

**Cause and Effect**

 ** _Summary:_** _Interruptions… Oh how annoying they can be. And then again, maybe not. Short and fluffy Literati, set somewhere in season 3._

* * *

"Hey!" she exclaimed, trying to grab her book that was suddenly being taken out of her hands.

"What?" he asked absentmindedly, sinking back against the other end of the couch, his concentration already turned to the book.

"You stole my book!" she accused, pouting at him.

"I finished mine," he offered as an explanation, continuing to read.

"But I was in the middle of a sentence!"

"Then you should read faster," he said and smirked a little, hiding it behind the book.

"You…" she began, but stopped, not able to come up with anything fitting.

"Yes?"

He still didn't look up from the book in his hands and she huffed a little before shooting up from her seat and reaching for the book.

She misjudged the distance a little though and ended up losing her balance and falling down right on top of him, landing uncomfortably with the book trapped between them. She winced as one of the edges of the book dug into her side and grumbled quietly to herself.

"Huh," he said with a smirk from underneath her and she glared at him, trying to get up. She didn't get anywhere.

"Not so fast," he chuckled, his arms securely wrapped around her waist, holding her in place.

"But…" she protested, once again trying to get up. She was cut off by his lips on hers and she groaned against his lips, kissing him back.

"No buts," he mumbled into her mouth.

When she relaxed in his arms the book once more dug into her side and she jerked away, breaking the kiss.

"I…" she began, but he once again silenced her with a kiss.

"No talkin'," he mumbled, almost coherently, and she sighed into the kiss, giving in once more.

But only for a second, because then the book poked her again. This time she managed to put her hand over his mouth before she spoke.

"The book. It hurts," she managed to get out before he pushed her hand away.

He smirked up at her and she pouted a little for effect, to which he shook his head and chuckled quietly.

"The book, huh?" he said and released his grip on her slightly to allow her to remove it.

Task done she relaxed again, sinking down on him fully and captured his lips with hers.

"Yup, evil thing," she breathed into the kiss, causing him to smirk a little.

"You seemed pretty upset to see it gone a while ago," he said, breaking away from the kiss and she sighed.

"I don't like being interrupted in the middle of something," she informed him, pursing her lips a little.

"Oh, is that so?" he smirked up at her and she sighed deeper.

"Yes, that is so. And just now I was in the middle of kissing you and you're interrupting me again."

"Well, who's the one talking?" he asked, looking up at her with a grin.

"You…" she began once again, but just like the last time couldn't find the right words and instead opted for an annoyed huff.

"What was that?" he asked, thoroughly amused by now. "I didn't get that last part."

"You're impossible!" she exclaimed.

"You do know you could just kiss me again, right?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her. "I'm not stopping you."

"But…I…you…" She huffed again, not sure how to explain what she was thinking.

"But now you're in the middle of arguing with me about being interrupted in the middle of kissing me? Right?"

"Yes," she confirmed, blushing when she heard him say it, because it sounded so silly.

"So, would you object very much if I kissed you again?"

She shook her head and smiled down at him as his hand came up to cradle the back of her head, pulling her down fully on top of him.

There were no more interruptions for some time after that.


	3. Letting Go

**Letting Go**

 ** _Summary:_** _Is there a specific time when you realize you have to let go? Angsty lit, set in the middle of season 7._

* * *

It is way too early, he is tired and too surprised to think. That's what he tells himself at least, what he has to tell himself when he realizes what he is doing.

Because there is no way he'd make the same mistake again. No way in hell.

So he breaks away from the kiss, a kiss that hasn't really gotten started and that he misses as soon as he loses contact.

But he can't do this he tells himself and backs away.

"What are you doing?" she asks and looks at him with confused eyes.

"I can't do this," he says mirroring his thoughts, motioning vaguely between them and shakes his head.

"What do you mean?" Her voice wavers a bit and he takes a deep breath.

"This…us…whatever that means…" he trails off, not sure how to explain, or why he has to explain for that matter.

"But…why not?"

"Because Rory, I just…"

"You what?" she asks, getting a bit frantic.

"Why are you here?"

"What?" she exclaims, stunned by his question.

"You heard me. Why are you here?"

"I just wanted to see you…"

"At 4:30 in the morning?"

"Yes…"

"What about your boyfriend?"

"We…um we broke up."

"Oh, great," he nods. "Congratulations."

"What!" she exclaims, looking hurt by his words.

"The guy was a complete jerk Rory. Did you really expect me to feel sorry for you?"

"No, maybe not, but you didn't have to do a victory dance right in front of me."

"It's early, ok. Had I been more awake I'd have done a tap dance in the kitchen. Happy?"

"Fine."

"Still doesn't explain why you're here."

"I told you I wanted…"

"To see me. Yes, I heard you."

"Well…"

"Ok, new question. What do you want?"

"I…want to…start over, with us…" she stutters out uncertainly. "I thought you'd…"

"Jump at the chance?"

"I…" she falters.

"God, Rory, you can't do this. I can't keep playing by your rules; I just can't do it anymore," he says, desperately trying to keep his voice in check.

"Jess, please," she pleads with him, taking a step forward, but he backs away again.

"I love you," he says quietly, looking at her with pain clearly visible in his eyes. "I probably have since the first time I walked into your room, when I was seventeen."

"So, what's the problem?" she asks urgently, reaching out a hand to touch his arm.

He watches her hand as it comes closer and this time he doesn't move. He tries to speak, but nothing comes out and he continues to watch her hand as it reaches him. He feels her fingers skim the skin on his wrist and feels the familiar shiver at her touch. For a second longer he stands still, watching her hand, but then he shakes his head and takes another step back, closing his eyes.

"It hurts too much," he says quietly, finally able to speak and opens his eyes again, keeping them on her still outstretched hand. He takes a deep breath and looks up at her. "It could never work Rory," he continues and shakes his head again. "It was never meant to work. There're too many obstacles, too much history, just too much of everything."

"Don't say that," she says urgently, feeling tears threaten to break out in the corners of her eyes. "We could make it work, I know we could. We just have to try."

"Rory, please," he says tiredly, "don't make this any harder than it has to be."

"But why?" she asks, squeezing her eyes shut for a second to stop the tears from spilling. "Why can't we make this work? Why won't you even try?"

He stays silent for a while, wanting badly to reach out and wipe away the tears he sees collecting in her lashes. "You still haven't told me why," he finally says quietly.

She stares at him, shocked, and opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. He nods to himself.

"Six months ago you were standing in almost the same spot as now, telling me that you loved someone else," he says, squeezing his eyes closed for a second. "Now you come here, telling me that you broke up with him, that you don't really love him and that you want to be with me."

"I…I do want to."

"Then why can't you say it without hesitating? Why can't you say that you love me? You'd have to if you really wanted to be with me, right?"

"It's not…"

"Not that easy?" he says, shaking his head. "It's exactly that easy. It's just three words. If you really wanted to you'd have no problems saying them. But you never did."

"And when should I have told you?" she throws out, not sure if she is more hurt or angry. "Before or after you ran away?"

"Damnit, Rory!" he exclaims. "This is exactly why it can't work. And don't you think I know I'm the one who screwed this up in the first place? I've regretted that for the past three and a half years."

"Jess, I'm…"

"Don't," he cuts her off. "Please."

"I do love you," she whispers, her tears finally spilling over. "Please, you have to believe me."

He nods and takes a step forward, reaching out to wipe her tears away with his thumb. "Sometimes I still feel like I did then," he whispers. "Terrified at realizing I'm falling in love and finding everything falling apart around me."

"This doesn't have to fall apart," she pleads, her tears falling faster with every passing moment.

"It already has," he whispers, taking a deep breath. "It's just taken a long time for everything to catch up."

She breathes out shakily, looking up at him through tear filled eyes and takes his hand, still on her cheek, in hers. "Will you hold me again?" she asks, barely audibly.

He nods and wraps his arms around her, eyes tightly shut and breathes in the smell of her hair. It's different than he remembers, but she still feels the same in his arms. She nestles her head on his shoulder and he softly presses his lips against her temple before leaning his head on hers.

And for a second he wonders if it could work after all.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** I know some of you will be upset with me for this, and I apologize for that, but (yes, there's a but) as much as I love the idea of Jess and Rory together, I actually don't like Rory that much. Sorry, but that's just my opinion. And yes, I know most of my stories have these two being deliriously happy for the most part, but then there are the moments when I just don't feel it. And this was written in one of those times. _


	4. Cooking Lessons

**Cooking Lessons**

 ** _Summary:_** _"We have no food," she said with a pathetic pout when he walked into the kitchen._

* * *

"Hey, Jess!" he heard her yell from the kitchen, in that slightly whiny tone he had learned meant she wanted him to do something for her.

He sighed and stopped staring at the screen in front of him, glad for the interruption. He had been sitting there, unable to get a single word out, for almost an hour now.

"We have no food," she said with a pathetic pout when he walked into the kitchen.

"We have plenty of food," he corrected her, raising a questioning eyebrow and leaned against the door frame, waiting for her to get to the real reason for calling him.

"But you can't eat it," she grumbled, pouting more now, in that sad way she had perfected through extensive practice.

"Sure you can," he argued, starting to get amused.

"But…everything needs to be cooked, or assembled or stirred or boiled or…something." She sounded almost horrified at the thought of it.

"Well that's what these pots and pans are for," he said, walking up to one of the cupboards and opened the door, crouching down to point inside.

"Huh, so that's what's in that cupboard," she said thoughtfully. "I've wondered for a while now."

"You could have opened the door and looked for yourself you know," he suggested.

"I guess I could have…" she said, just as thoughtfully, but then shook her head. "But now that you showed me I don't have to anymore." She grinned at him.

"Good thing I showed you then," he said and smirked at her. "Now that you know where the tools are you can make something to eat." With a grin he stood up again and walked back out of the kitchen.

"Wait!" she yelled after him desperately. "Where are you going?"

"I should get back to work," he said simply, sitting down in front of his laptop again.

"But…you can't just leave me alone in the kitchen," she protested, horrified by the thought. "It would be a disaster."

"I'm sure you'll do fine," he said dismissively and started typing random words, trying to look like he was actually writing something.

"But…but…" she stuttered, staring at him in disbelief, "you know what happened the last time I tried to cook!"

"Huh?" he said, looking up briefly and almost had to laugh at her incredulous look. "Oh, that. Well, it was probably just the pasta giving mutiny a try."

"I almost burned down the whole kitchen!" she exclaimed.

"So don't make pasta," he suggested simply.

"That's your only response? Don't make pasta!" She stared at him with wide eyes.

"Um…" He paused for a second as if thinking. "Yes."

"No, you don't mean that. You like this apartment too much to jeopardize it by letting me cook all by myself," she said forcefully. "Right?" she added after a second.

"I'll be sure to have the fire extinguisher within reach if things should get out of hand," he said absentmindedly while typing another row of gibberish on his laptop.

She was silent for a long time after that and finally he had to look up to see if she was still there, not that he had heard her move away. She was sitting on the edge of the couch, staring at him with a faraway look on her face, as if deep in thought.

"Or you could cook for me," she suddenly blurted out, as if it hadn't really been her plan to say it out loud.

"Huh?" he said questioningly.

"Please," she pouted. "I know you're working, but I really need something to eat."

"You want me to cook dinner for you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her and couldn't hold back a smirk.

"Yes," she confirmed, smiling brightly at him. "Please."

"Some day you really need to learn to cook, you know," he said, and stopped typing.

"Yes, I completely agree," she nodded, and smiled sweetly at him.

"Soon," he continued, keeping his tone serious and didn't move from his chair.

"Thank you!" She grinned at him and quickly rose from her seat at the couch and jumped over to him and kissed him quickly. "Finish that quick," she said and pointed at the laptop. "I'll wait in the kitchen." She kissed him again and ambled off happily.

"What…?" he asked quickly, but she was already on her way out in the kitchen. "Oh no, I'm coming with you," he said and quickly got up from the chair and followed her.

"You don't want to finish?" she asked, surprised.

"And leave you alone in here?" he asked, eyeing her warily. "I don't think so."

"Two minutes ago you didn't have any problem with it," she teased him, while walking over to the fridge.

"That was two minutes ago. Now is very different." He eyed her cautiously as she opened the door to the fridge and poked her head in.

"So, what are you writing?" she asked, looking through the fridge for something that she would like for dinner.

"Um…nothing important," he said distractedly, his concentration on the opened milk carton in her hand that looked dangerously close to being tipped over.

She retracted her head from inside the fridge and stared at him for a second, then she put the milk on the counter and almost ran out of the kitchen again. He groaned, and on his way out after her closed the fridge.

"Hey!" she exclaimed a second later. "This doesn't even make sense. It's not even real words." She looked up at him accusingly when he turned up in the doorway.

He shrugged and smirked at her indignant expression. She looked really cute.

"You were gonna cook dinner for me all along, weren't you?" She glared at him and made a disgusting noise at the laptop.

"More fun this way," he smirked.

She glared at him some more.

"Besides, I thought you'd be smart enough to figure it out," he shrugged again.

She huffed some more and crossed her arms over her chest. And added another glare just for the sake of it.

"You're cute when you're trying to look angry," he said with a grin and walked back into the kitchen.

She smiled instinctively at his words, but then remembered that she was supposed to be angry at him and tried to wipe it off. Then she heard him rummage around among the frying pans and after that some rustling from the fridge.

When the smell of the food started drifting out of the kitchen and over to her she couldn't stay in the living room anymore and hurriedly went back into the kitchen.

He stood by the stove, stirring something and didn't appear to notice her enter, so she quietly made her way up to him and stood behind his back, inspecting his work.

"You're so making it up to me tonight," she whispered in his ear.

"Is that so?" he asked and turned around, smiling at her. "And how do you suggest I do that?"

"Oh, I don't know…" she drifted off, smiling mischievously at him.

"Think this will do?" he asked and reached up a hand to her cheek, bringing her face to his and kissed her softly.

"It's a good start," she murmured before breaking away. "Don't forget the food. We don't want it to get burned."

She smiled brightly at him and sat down on a chair by the kitchen table, intending to watch him work from a safe distance.

He shook his head at her with a laugh and turned back to the stove.


	5. Everything Becomes Real

**Everything Becomes Real**

 _ **Summary:** He gives her a small smile, wrapping his arm around her. "You think this is gonna work?" he asks her. Future literati._

* * *

All the boxes are inside, the truck on the street outside the house is empty. He slumps down on the steps up to the front door, almost feeling the muscles in arms and back stiffening. But it feels good to sit down.

And it feels even better to know that this was the last load, that most everything inside the house is already set up and put away. There's no longer that pressing need to get things done and it's good to just relax for a while.

She comes out of the house and sits down next to him, leaning into his side and takes his hand in hers. She slowly traces the skin beside one of the cuts he got from the boxes with her thumb. Then she lifts her head up and kisses his cheek.

He gives her a small smile, wrapping his arm around her. "You think this is gonna work?" he asks her.

He knows he has asked that question before and every time she has given the same answer. But he still needs to hear it, want to hear it, because it makes him feel surer of it. It makes all the doubts he still has vanish.

"Of course it will," she says, just as he knew she would and he draws a deep breath. He knows he should stop asking, stop doubting himself, but it's not as easy as it sounds. Not even after all these years.

He squeezes her shoulder, bringing her just a little bit closer and kisses her temple gently. "I know, I just…"

"I know," she says, stopping him from continuing. "Everything is gonna be ok, I promise." She turns a little so she faces him and smiles reassuringly. "We're teammates, ok," she says and brings her hand up to his cheek, stroking her finger over the slight stubble.

He shudders at her choice of word and give her a slightly disgusted look, inching away to get a better look at her.

"What?" she asks, surprised and curious. It's actually really cute.

"Too many bad memories from school," he answers with a new shudder, almost wanting to take a shower to get the feeling out.

"When did you ever get any experience from any team sport in school?" she asks, genuinely curious.

Too late he realizes his mistake and close his eyes for a second. Not wanting to discuss this now he tries to change the subject. "We should probably get the truck back, right? You want to drive or should I?"

"Don't want to talk about it, huh?" she says with an all too sweet smile that makes him very uneasy.

It's useless, he knows, but he just has to try to get her off the current topic. He really doesn't want to discuss his very brief appearances in gym class. "Luke will be upset if we don't get his truck back," he says and tries to stand up.

She has a hold of his hand though, and he doesn't get up more than a foot or so before she yanks him down again. "You were hardly there," she says, still with that smile in place. It's brighter now though.

"It'll be dark soon," he continues, a last pathetic try at making her give up, but he knows she can hear in his tone that he's giving in and he sees her smile triumphantly. With a sigh he slumps down beside her, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

"Ha, I win!" she exclaims happily and despite everything he finds myself smiling back at her. There's no way he could not. Her eyes are shining, bright blue orbs and she just looks so happy.

"You always win," he mutters quietly, but the effect is lost in the smile on his face.

"Of course I do," she says matter-of-factly and grins at him.

He sighs and wraps his arm around her shoulders again, pulling her close. He stays quiet, even though he knows there's really no use. At least he's gonna stall as long as possible.

"So…" she says, drawing the small word out to several syllables, making it sound even more prodding than it would have been on it's on.

He sighs again and takes a deep breath, giving in to the inevitable. But someone somewhere must really feel sorry for him today, because just as he's about to start she gasps and goes stiff.

"What?" he ask, surprised by the frightened tone in his voice.

Please don't let anything be wrong he manages to pray to whatever force out there that might be listening before she turns to him with a huge smile on her face. He thinks he's as stunned by that smile as he just was by the fear that rushed through him.

She doesn't say anything, just continues to smile like a whole sunrise and takes his hand more firmly in hers, pressing it against her stomach.

And then it's like everything becomes real, and for the first time all the doubts are gone. He can feel something swiftly move against his hand and he knows his smile is mirroring hers.

The truck won't be back tonight, but right at this moment he really couldn't care less.


	6. Memories

**Memories**

 _ **Summary:** She asks and he remembers. Somewhat angsty literati set somewhere in season 3._

* * *

It is late afternoon, or possibly early night. It might even be late night. They are sitting on opposite sides of the couch in Luke's apartment, reading and discussing their books. Once in a while they swap so the other can read a favorite section.

They have been there for hours now, but neither have really noticed the time fly by. The only thing to really measure the time by has been Luke's regular visits, but even those seem to have been less regular lately, or they just have not noticed him come up, which is entirely possible.

He looks up again, just as he has once in a while since they sat down, and looks over at her. Normally he would find her engrossed in her book, but this time she is looking right back at him, a thoughtful expression on her face. He smiles a little and sits up to move over to her.

"What was it like to grow up in New York?" she asks suddenly, her words reaching him in mid move, making him stop abruptly and fall back the short distance to the arm rest of the couch, charging a memory from deep inside.

* * *

 _He is five and the smell he feels when he comes home to the apartment makes him want to throw up. It makes him angry for no apparent reason, for he has yet to learn what it is._

 _All he knows is that he has to make it to his room fast if he is gonna keep what little he ate for lunch today down._

 _So he hurries through the apartment, willing himself not to see the more and more frequent image of his mother lying face down on the couch, surrounded by bottles and small plastic bags, everything covered with spots of white powder._

 _A few days earlier his curiosity became too much and he wanted to know what it was. It looked kind of like flour, only not quite, but he wasn't sure because he had not come across flour that often._

 _He had wet his finger with his tongue and put it in one of the bigger piles, just like he had a month earlier with the sugar in an open packet at the store on the corner._

 _At first it had not tasted that much, but then he thought he felt a sting on his tongue and had quickly spit it out. He had not stopped spitting until he reached the sink in the kitchen where he crawled up with the help of a chair, turned the faucet on and rinsed his mouth for over a minute._

 _He had cringed at the taste of the water, the usual chemical taste of it even more bitter than usual. But at the moment anything had been better than the taste in his mouth._

* * *

"What?" he asks, stunned by the memory that her words brought out in his mind, not aware until now that he even remembered I that day, and definitely not sure what to answer.

"I just wondered what it was like to grow up in New York," she repeats, frowning at the suddenly guarded expression on his face. "I mean, I don't really know that much about your life before you came here. I'd like to know more."

* * *

 _He is seven and he is too afraid to go back to the apartment. The almost black sky above him is a promise of a cold and wet night, but nothing can make him go back there._

 _Not as long as Jack is there. Not as long as his mother is looking at him as if he were some kind of insect she would like to crush with the heel of her shoe._

 _The sky he thought couldn't get any darker proves him wrong and then he feels the first drops of rain. Or is it snow? Or hail? He isn't sure; he only knows that he should have worn something warmer than the thin sweatshirt he put on that morning._

 _It only takes a couple of minutes for the world around him to turn grey as big, wet flakes of snow starts to fall all around him._

 _And then the wind picks up and he is starting to get really cold and feels like screaming every profanity he has ever heard in his life to the world._

 _He almost does, but the air is too cold when he opens his mouth, so he shuts it again, clutching his arms tightly around himself, looking for a place with some sort of shelter from the snow and wind that has now picked up even more._

 _He finally finds a deserted alley with less snow than the street he came from and on shaky legs he walks in and almost falls to the ground from exhaustion. He drags himself a few feet in and is almost about to thank God for the torn cardboard box he finds._

 _But he remembers that he does not believe in God and only wraps the wet and soggy paper around his shaking body, thankful that he is out of the wind._

* * *

He shakes his head to clear his mind of the images, surprised at how vivid they are, how clearly he remembers that night. He had thought he had suppressed the memory together with the rest of them, but obviously he has not done a good enough job.

Then again, since he arrived in Stars Hollow no one has really asked him about his past. Most people took one look at him and had their image clear already, and the others have either not dared or not bothered to find out the truth. Until now that is.

He is actually a little surprised, now that he thinks about it, that she has never asked before. But at the same time he is grateful that he has been able to forget for this long, even though it looks like the peaceful time without memories has now come to a rather abrupt end.

"You don't want to know," he says slowly, his voice barely above a whisper, and he can see her strain herself to hear his words. But he quickly looks away, does not want to meet her eyes for fear of what she might see in his.

"Of course I want to know," she says quietly and he can feel her eyes on him, burning into him like two fires, and he wonders briefly how blue can be that warm. "I want to know if you loved books as much as you do now when you were eight. I want to know…" But her words are drowning in the images in his head.

* * *

 _He is eight and he wishes he had not been so damn curious. He is lying on his back on the floor outside the bathroom, head throbbing and trying to keep his insides from spilling out again._

 _The wet, sticky substances he is already lying in is far enough._

 _Had his head not felt so foggy he would have gladly pulled himself up and went to take a shower and put some clean clothes on._

 _But he does not think he has any clean clothes, has not had in a while, not since the last time he dragged a load of them down to the Laundromat a block away. He can not remember when that was._

 _And he is not sure there would be any warm water in the shower today. It has rarely been anything but freezing for the past year._

 _He thinks he can feel himself float and closes his eyes, only to realize they are already closed. Almost as an afterthought he tries to grab onto something to keep himself from flying away, but the only thing he finds is the bottle he dropped a while ago and it does not offer much support._

* * *

"You don't want to know," he repeats, his voice this time louder and more forceful, and this time he looks up at her, not caring about the desperation, anger, pain and sadness he knows is clearly visible in his eyes, mixed with countless of other emotions.

If she is surprised by his expression she does not show it and he thinks he is grateful for that. But he does not get that much time to think about it before she is at his side of the couch, her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

He slowly raises his arms and returns her hug, holding her close and buries his head in her hair, accepting the hug even though it makes him feel slightly awkward. She stays quiet and he thinks he is even more grateful for that.

He closes his eyes and breathes in the smell of her hair, letting it calm him. He feels like he is about to cry, but he has not cried in so long that he is not sure what it feels like. Either way, there are no tears and he thinks that maybe it would have been better if there were.

Behind his closed eyes the memories keep flying by and he does not know how to turn them off. He sees himself grow older, sees all the places he has lived, all the people he has encountered, all the things he has tried to forget.

* * *

 _He is thirteen and he wakes up in a hospital bed, an old man with an all too friendly smile leaning over him, appearing to be busy checking his heartbeat._

 _He has a blurry memory of what happened before waking up here and he is unable to stop himself from wincing as his head clears and he gets his feeling back._

 _He remembers Liz's latest catch looming over him with a menacing look on his face. And he remembers the pain all over his body and the sickening feeling of blood running down his face, into his mouth. And he remembers the last kick he received in his already painfully sore ribs before passing out._

 _And as the old man he assumes is a doctor continues to examine him, all the time with that almost nauseatingly friendly smile on his face and concerned questions about how he is feeling, he decides he does not care anymore._

* * *

He closes his eyes more tightly and he can feel something trickle down his cheek, at first wondering what it is. Then he tastes salt and he realizes that the tears have finally arrived. He is relieved, he thinks, and holds on to her tightly as they continue to silently fall down his cheeks, wetting her hair.

If she notices she does not say anything, but he thinks she holds him a little closer too and he feels her lips softly move against his neck.

* * *

 _He is ten and he is standing outside the school with a huge grin on his face, clutching the framed piece of paper closely to his chest._

 _He has been waiting for this day for a few weeks now, ever since he turned in his essay to his teacher. Every day he has gotten a little more nervous, a little more afraid that it will not be good enough._

 _It has been a couple weeks where he has not been able to concentrate on his normal school work quite as hard as he has wanted to. He promises that he will make up for it now._

 _The frame is black with a gold lining; he realizes it is not real gold, but for him it could just as well have been. Inside the frame, behind the glass, is a paper, of much higher quality than he has ever seen before, and on it is the evidence that his story won._

 _He walks home with a smile on his face, all the way clutching the framed diploma as if it is his most treasured possession. He feels a little bit closer to the people he admires the most, all the authors of his most loved books. And he thinks that maybe one day he can actually become one of them._

* * *

He smiles into her hair at the memory, remembering that day so clearly. It has been almost eight years, but it still seems like yesterday. And at the same time it feels like another lifetime. He opens his eyes again, feeling the last remaining tears slip out of the clutch of his eyelashes. As they fall he thinks he can feel part of his anger, his pain, fall with them.

"I won a writing competition when I was ten," he says quietly into her hair. "I think I still have the diploma somewhere."

Some day he will tell her about the painful memories, but today he will tell her the happy ones.


	7. Special Delivery

**Special Delivery**

 ** _Summary:_** _An old promise is fulfilled. Literati, sort of, set in season 3._

* * *

The diner was filled to the limit.

It seemed like every person in Stars Hollow, and some of the nearby towns, had decided that four in the afternoon this Wednesday in February was the perfect time to go and eat at Luke's diner.

Luke himself was running around, trying to get some sort of organization out of the chaos, but it was no use. People kept shouting their orders, changing their minds and walking around like it was some kind of museum.

He was seriously contemplating starting to throw people out.

And in the midst of it Jess was standing behind the counter, or more correctly leaning both of his arms on it, holding a book in one hand and resting his chin in the other. He seemed totally oblivious to the chaos around him, completely focused on the words in front of him.

In other words it was just a normal afternoon in Luke's diner.

"Hello everyone, can I have you attention please?" Kirk's voice suddenly urged over the clamor. And amazingly enough people quieted down.

"Thank you all," Kirk said sincerely, doing a little nod at the people around him. "I have a delivery here," he continued, holding up a cardboard box the size of a brick, "and it's addressed to a Jess Mariano."

At his name Jess snapped his head up, wondering why the hell Kirk was talking about him. He hadn't exactly paid attention to the man up until now.

"What are you doing here Kirk?" Luke's voice suddenly rang through the diner. It was clear he was not amused.

"As I said," Kirk began, trying not to look fazed by Luke's expression, or his tone, "I have a delivery here for a Jess Mariano. And now I'm here searching for said person." At the last words he was considerably more fidgety than when he started.

"Kirk," Luke snapped agitated, "you know who Jess is. He's been living here for more than a year."

Jess was still standing silently at the counter, looking on and finding the scene in front of him highly amusing. Not that he thought it was a hard thing to find something amusing in this town, considering its inhabitants, but still.

"I'm trying to do this the right way, Luke," Kirk said, trying to sound like he knew what he was doing. "There's a protocol for these sorts of things. And I intend to honor that."

"You know what," Luke barked, "Jess is standing by the counter." He pointed in the general direction and gave his nephew a glare. "As usual doing nothing. Why don't you go over there, give him the package and then get the hell out of my diner!"

Kirk eyed the man in front of him for a few moments, but ultimately decided to do as he said. He was slightly afraid of Luke and today he was being even more cranky than usual. He fiddled a little with the package in his hands and walked up to the counter, stopping right in front of Jess, who eyed him suspiciously.

"I've got a package for a Jess Mariano here," Kirk announced once again, holding up the package, glancing back at Luke nervously. "I've heard that would be you, young man. Is that correct?"

Jess only raised an eyebrow at the man in front of him, wondering if he had finally cracked completely. And stayed silent.

"For the love of God!" Luke exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Kirk, give him the damned package! And Jess, for God's sake, do not add to this insanity!"

Jess smirked a little at his uncle and mock saluted him before turning to Kirk, deciding that it probably wasn't worth it to irritate Luke any more. He gave Kirk a little nod, "Yes, that would be me," he said slowly.

"Very good," Kirk breathed out, very aware of Luke's presence behind his back when he handed over a clipboard and a pen to Jess. "If you would please sign here."

Jess eyed the paper in front of him questioningly, noticing it looked very homemade. And that the handwriting at the top looked very familiar. "Who is this from, Kirk?" he asked suspiciously, ignoring the pen in front of him.

"I am not at liberty to tell you that," Kirk said, trying to sound certain of himself while eyeing the young man in front of him warily.

Jess raised an eyebrow, causing Kirk's expression to turn even more guarded. He started to fidget some more, casting glances over his shoulder at the door, wishing himself out of the diner.

The diner was completely silent by now, every pair of eyes turned to the two people at the counter, and most of them at the same time keeping a cautious eye at the grouchy owner. Jess thought the situation extremely entertaining.

"For the…!" Luke began, but closed his mouth and stalked over to the counter and grabbed the pen from Kirk. "Damnit Jess, just sign the paper!" he bit out, slamming the pen down on the counter.

"Fine," Jess said with a smirk and picked up the pen, signing the clipboard quickly, to the very visible relief of Kirk, who almost threw the package down on the counter and ran towards the door. "Hope she paid you well," Jess yelled after him, almost letting a small chuckle slip out.

"Thank God!" Luke exclaimed, turning to his nephew. "We will talk about this later, you hear me."

"Can't wait," Jess deadpanned, grabbing the package and his book and walked out from behind the counter. "I'm going out," he told Luke calmly before walking out the door, leaving a stunned diner behind.

"Hey, come back here!" Luke yelled through the still open door, but Jess just turned around and waved before continuing across the town square. "Damn that kid!" Luke swore before slamming the door shut.

On the other side of the square Jess stopped, sat down on a bench and tore the package open. He almost missed the small piece of paper that flew out, but caught it before it hit the ground and smiled when he read it.

 _Only took me a year, but here it is. Bring a movie and there might be more than one._

 _(PS. Do not dare bring Bambi or Dumbo!)_

 _\- Forever grateful_

And at the bottom of the now open package was a lone egg roll.


	8. Strangely Comforting

**_**A/N:**_** _This will be the last entry in this collection. At least for now. If I get new ideas, there might be more installments, but these are the ones I had from before._

* * *

 **Strangely Comforting**

 ** _Summary:_** _She always watches him, but not for long, because she knows he will feel she is there. Literati of sorts set in season 3._

* * *

It was a familiar scenario, him sitting on the bridge, feet dangling over the water with a book in his hands and deeply engrossed in the story. She would always stop a few feet before entering the bridge, just observing him. He looked so peaceful sitting there, so far from how he acted most of the time in town, or around people anywhere for that matter.

She liked watching him, but she knew she couldn't stand there for long before he would look up from his book and turn his eyes on her. Those intense eyes that she sometimes felt she could disappear into.

It seemed like he always knew she was coming long before she made herself know by stepping onto the wood. She didn't know how he did it, but she had never been able to sneak up on him. He always seemed to know exactly where she was.

Sometimes she wondered if he could sense her everywhere, no matter how far away she was. Especially those times when she told him something of her day and where she had been an hour earlier and he said that he knew.

But that couldn't be. Right? She always brushed the feeling off as him teasing her, or that she had just forgotten that she told him of her plans in advance. She mostly did, so it wouldn't be that strange if she did that time as well, even if she couldn't remember it.

What made her doubt her perfectly logical reasoning that it just wasn't possible the most though were the times that he would appear in the most random places, seemingly waiting for her, even though there was no possible way he could know she would be there. But he always gave some excuse that he was in the neighborhood and kissed her, effectively silencing her questions.

Lately she had started viewing it as rather comforting, the sense of there being some sort of connection between them, even if it only seemed to be one way.

And then, just as she had predicted, he closed his book and turned his head sideways to look at her, his ever present smirk in place. She smiled back briefly before looking down on the ground, embarrassed that she had once again been caught staring at him. But when she sat down next to him and he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close, tilting her head up to his and kissed her, the embarrassment was forgotten.


End file.
